The Fetish
There are some souls made of alabaster,
not hard as diamonds, but enduring stones.
Who is surprised if years later the little fetish
is just as the man carved her, not more or less.
He took the stone fragment in hand,
shaped the marble with his diamond blade
into something like, but quite unlike
what she was before his knife.
She fit in the palm of his hand.
He left her on a shelf by the door.
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